Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series. Anton Pavlovich Chekhov

of space, are sleeping as they sit. It is late at night. As the curtain rises thunder is heard, and lightning is seen through the door.]

      [TIHON is behind the counter. FEDYA is half-lying in a heap on one of the forms, and is quietly playing on a concertina. Next to him is BORTSOV, wearing a shabby summer overcoat. SAVVA, NAZAROVNA, and EFIMOVNA are stretched out on the floor by the benches.]

      EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear! Can’t get any answer out of him.

      NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the corner of a cloth covering of SAVVA’S face] Are you alive or are you dead, you holy man?

      SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I’m alive, mother! [Raises himself on his elbow] Cover up my feet, there’s a saint! That’s it. A bit more on the right one. That’s it, mother. God be good to us.

      NAZAROVNA. [Wrapping up SAVVA’S feet] Sleep, little father.

      SAVVA. What sleep can I have? If only I had the patience to endure this pain, mother; sleep’s quite another matter. A sinner doesn’t deserve to be given rest. What’s that noise, pilgrim-woman?

      NAZAROVNA. God is sending a storm. The wind is wailing, and the rain is pouring down, pouring down. All down the roof and into the windows like dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are opened… [Thunder] Holy, holy, holy…

      FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there’s no end to it! Hoooo… it’s like the noise of a forest… Hoooo… The wind is wailing like a dog… [Shrinking back] It’s cold! My clothes are wet, it’s all coming in through the open door… you might put me through a wringer… [Plays softly] My concertina’s damp, and so there’s no music for you, my Orthodox brethren, or else I’d give you such a concert, my word! – Something marvellous! You can have a quadrille, or a polka, if you like, or some Russian dance for two… I can do them all. In the town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn’t make any money, but I did wonders on my concertina. And, I can play the guitar.

      A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. A silly speech from a silly fool.

      FEDYA. I can hear another of them. [Pause.]

      NAZAROVNA. [To SAVVA] If you’d only lie where it was warm now, old man, and warm your feet. [Pause.] Old man! Man of God! [Shakes SAVVA] Are you going to die?

      FEDYA. You ought to drink a little vodka, grandfather. Drink, and it’ll burn, burn in your stomach, and warm up your heart. Drink, do!

      NAZAROVNA. Don’t swank, young man! Perhaps the old man is giving back his soul to God, or repenting for his sins, and you talk like that, and play your concertina… Put it down! You’ve no shame!

      FEDYA. And what are you sticking to him for? He can’t do anything and you… with your old women’s talk… He can’t say a word in reply, and you’re glad, and happy because he’s listening to your nonsense… You go on sleeping, grandfather; never mind her! Let her talk, don’t you take any notice of her. A woman’s tongue is the devil’s broom – it will sweep the good man and the clever man both out of the house. Don’t you mind… [Waves his hands] But it’s thin you are, brother of mine! Terrible! Like a dead skeleton! No life in you! Are you really dying?

      SAVVA. Why should I die? Save me, O Lord, from dying in vain… I’ll suffer a little, and then get up with God’s help… The Mother of God won’t let me die in a strange land… I’ll die at home.

      FEDYA. Are you from far off?

      SAVVA. From Vologda. The town itself… I live there.

      FEDYA. And where is this Vologda?

      TIHON. The other side of Moscow…

      FEDYA. Well, well, well… You have come a long way, old man! On foot?

      SAVVA. On foot, young man. I’ve been to Tihon of the Don, and I’m going to the Holy Hills. [Note: On the Donetz, south-east of Kharkov; a monastery containing a miraculous ikon.]… From there, if God wills it, to Odessa… They say you can get to Jerusalem cheap from there, for twenty-ones roubles, they say…

      FEDYA. And have you been to Moscow?

      SAVVA. Rather! Five times…

      FEDYA. Is it a good town? [Smokes] Well-standing?

      Sews. There are many holy places there, young man… Where there are many holy places it’s always a good town…

      BORTSOV. [Goes up to the counter, to TIHON] Once more, please! For the sake of Christ, give it to me!

      FEDYA. The chief thing about a town is that it should be clean. If it’s dusty, it must be watered; if it’s dirty, it must be cleaned. There ought to be big houses… a theatre… police… cabs, which… I’ve lived in a town myself, I understand.

      BORTSOV. Just a little glass. I’ll pay you for it later.

      TIHON. That’s enough now.

      BORTSOV. I ask you! Do be kind to me!

      TIHON. Get away!

      BORTSOV. You don’t understand me… Understand me, you fool, if there’s a drop of brain in your peasant’s wooden head, that it isn’t I who am asking you, but my inside, using the words you understand, that’s what’s asking! My illness is what’s asking! Understand!

      TIHON. We don’t understand anything… Get back!

      BORTSOV. Because if I don’t have a drink at once, just you understand this, if I don’t satisfy my needs, I may commit some crime. God only knows what I might do! In the time you’ve kept this place, you rascal, haven’t you seen a lot of drunkards, and haven’t you yet got to understand what they’re like? They’re diseased! You can do anything you like to them, but you must give them vodka! Well, now, I implore you! Please! I humbly ask you! God only knows how humbly!

      TIHON. You can have the vodka if you pay for it.

      BORTSOV. Where am I to get the money? I’ve drunk it all! Down to the ground! What can I give you? I’ve only got this coat, but I can’t give you that. I’ve nothing on underneath… Would you like my cap? [Takes it off and gives it to TIHON]

      TIHON. [Looks it over] Hm… There are all sorts of caps… It might be a sieve from the holes in it…

      FEDYA. [Laughs] A gentleman’s cap! You’ve got to take it off in front of the mam’selles. How do you do, good-bye! How are you?

      TIHON. [Returns the cap to BORTSOV] I wouldn’t give anything for it. It’s muck.

      BORTSOV. If you don’t like it, then let me owe you for the drink! I’ll bring in your five copecks on my way back from town. You can take it and choke yourself with it then! Choke yourself! I hope it sticks in your throat! [Coughs] I hate you!

      TIHON. [Banging the bar-counter with his fist] Why do you keep on like that? What a man! What are you here for, you swindler?

      BORTSOV. I want a drink! It’s not I, it’s my disease! Understand that!

      TIHON. Don’t you make me lose my temper, or you’ll soon find yourself outside!

      BORTSOV. What am I to do? [Retires from the bar-counter] What am I to do? [Is thoughtful.]

      EFIMOVNA. It’s the devil tormenting you. Don’t you mind him, sir. The damned one keeps whispering, “Drink! Drink!” And you answer him, “I shan’t drink! I shan’t drink!” He’ll go then.

      FEDYA. It’s drumming in his head… His stomach’s leading him on! [Laughs] Your houour’s a happy man. Lie down and go to sleep! What’s the use of standing like a scarecrow in the middle of the inn! This isn’t an orchard!

      BORTSOV. [Angrily] Shut up! Nobody spoke to you, you donkey.

      FEDYA. Go on, go on! We’ve seen the like of you before! There’s a lot like you tramping the high road! As to being a donkey, you wait till I’ve given you a clout on the ear and you’ll howl worse than the wind. Donkey yourself! Fool! [Pause] Scum!

      NAZAROVNA. The old man may be saying a prayer, or giving up his soul to God, and here are these unclean ones wrangling with one another and saying all sorts